We Didn't Start The Fire
by SiriuslySarcastic
Summary: With James and Dom causing havoc, Fred adding fuel to the fire, Albus wanting to be like his brother and Rose trying to knock sense into him, with Roxy stopping Lucy from telling their parents, Hugo being an idiot and Louis wondering how he's related to them all, it's a wonder the Weasley-Potter's have managed to keep their sanity. (One-shot collection.)
1. Fire Snitch

**Entry for HPFC's The Next Gen Competition! (Always Open).**

**(Rose Weasley plays a Muggle game.)**

* * *

"...Beer pong."

"Yeah, beer pong."

Rose watched Albus as he scrutinized her in confusion, probably wondering why she wasn't more excited, before asking, "Does it have anything to do with beer and ping-pong balls?"

Al scratched his head, and grinned sheepishly, "Um, yeah. That pretty much sums up the entire thing."

She scoffed, "Muggle games are so _stupid_."

"Yeah, but we're changing it around," he said, bouncing up and down on her bed in excitement. She resisted the urge to tell him not to rumple her sheets. "James got some Firewhisky, and Dom's playing too, and he's never asked me to come before, so _please_, Rosie -"

"Fiiiine," she groaned, getting up, but he let out a laugh and tackled her back onto her bed in a hug. Soon she was laughing as well, her incredulity gone.

And _that_ was how she found herself standing in front of James Potter II as he solemnly explained the rules to her while he and Dom played their own game. Their 14-year-old heads were far too muddled with alcohol for their aim to be any decent, and Dom was giggling loudly, drowning out most of what James was saying.

"Oi!" he snapped irritably. "I'm trying to explain some very important...um...stuff! Yeah! Major stuff going on here, so would you just -"

"You're such a wet blanket, James," drawled Dominique, not even looking his way as she bounced a little wooden ball across the table they had set up in James' room. It bounced once, twice, and then landed in a cup. James only seemed too eager to drink, but in three long strides Rose had crossed the room and yanked the cup away.

"Enough," she said flatly, and Albus cast her a worried glance, probably not wanting her to ruin the fun. She scowled, resisting the urge to snap at him. Didn't he see how stupid all of this was?

James smirked, "Who's the wet blanket now, eh, Dom?"

Dominique frowned at Rose, but it was more of the older girl trying to figure out what she wanted to say, before finally settling on, "If James is out, you're taking his place."

"Fine," said Rose, glaring daggers at her cousin. It was always her and James that pulled this stuff, and Al would _always_ want to do it just because his big brother was, and Rose didn't _like_ it.

"Fine," she repeated, "I'll play, and I'll win, and you'll stop all this. Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny will be home soon, and what do you think they'll say when they find their son and niece drunk?"

"You're right," Dom stage-whispered to James, "_She's_ the wet blanket."

James laughed at this, and the Veela-girl continued, placing her hands on her slender hips, "Hey, Rosie, d'you really think you can beat me? I'm Fire-Snitch _queen_ around these parts!"

It took Rose a moment to put Firewhiskey and the wooden ball - which she suspected, was an old Snitch - together to form the new name, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Instead she steeled her gaze and met Dom's challenge.

"Oh, Dommie, I _know_ I will."

And _that_ was how she woke up the next morning with the most _vile_ taste in her throat and the feeling that all the king's horses and all the king's men were trampling around inside her head. She spotted Albus sitting on the edge of her bed, a worried look on his face, but, instead of saying anything, she only tried to pull the covers over her eyes (It was so bloody _bright.). _In her peripheral vision, she spotted a steaming mug of _something _(_Tea, _she thought, _Please be tea.) _that Al had probably put there.

"What happened?" she asked finally, peeking at him from under her blanket.

"You won," he said, smiling, "James and Dom went off into the living room. I brought you up and you pretty much collapsed. Mum and Dad came home, and found the two of them - you should have _heard_ Mum yelling. I don't think they're going to be drinking anytime soon."

"And me?" she asked, dreading what Uncle Harry would tell Mum if he knew she was hungover right now.

"I told them you'd felt a bit sick, so we'd watched a movie and then you'd gone to sleep," explained Al, "It was the least I could do after the mess I dragged you into. Rosie, I'm - ah, I'm sorry. Really."

She should have told him right then, _This is the kind of crap James and Dom get up to - the kind of stuff I try to keep you out of. Why are you always fighting to be more like him?_

She didn't know if it was the hangover, or the way his green eyes avoided hers from the guilt, but all her annoyance vanished. Instead of criticizing, like she always did, like she _wanted_ to, she reached up, lightly pinching his cheek.

"It's alright, Al."

* * *

**In the story, Dom and James are 14, while Rose and Al are 11. Dom and James are a bit...well, they're sorta stupid teenagers, but they clean up their act at around fifteen-sixteen.**

**Review! :3**


	2. The Other George

**Entry for The Next Gen Competiton (Always Open)**

**OC learns something about the War.**

**The OC I've used is Delilah Jordan, daughter of Alicia Spinnet and Lee Jordan.**

**Hogwarts University Competiton - scholarship essay (Prompt - Mickey Mouse hat) **

* * *

Diagon Alley was beautiful at night - the shops were closed, the roads were empty, and the streetlamps were dimmed, only stars to provide light to the two teenagers who stumbled down the cobbled path, talking and laughing in whispers.

"Stop it!" exclaimed Delilah, holding her hands over her head. She'd spent two hours straightening her corkscrew curls that afternoon, and it had stayed in place all through their trip to the Muggle fair. She'd be damned if she let Albus Severus Potter mess up her hair - no matter how _cute_ he looked when he pleaded, or how the sound of his laugh made her stomach do back flips -

"Come _on_, Lilah!" he insisted, attempting to fit the Mickey Mouse hat on her. "Don't make me resort to force!"

"What sort of force?" she asked, incredulous. "I'm Hufflepuff's star Beater, Al, and don't you forget it."

"Naw, I wouldn't try to wrestle it onto your head or anything," he said, grinning mischievously as his hands dropped to his sides. Unsure where he was going with this, she lowered her hands as well. He had a look in his eye - the kind of look she'd see on James Potter, and she was starting to get a bad feeling about this.

"Then what _would_ you do?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"I'd kiss you," he said simply, and she was glad for her dark skin, glad for the night-time streets, for surely Albus couldn't see how much she was blushing?

"And what would that achieve?" she asked, keeping her tone light. Play it cool, Kasey had always told her. Don't let the boys fluster you. Show them who's in charge.

"If I kissed you," said Albus slowly, taking a step forward, "You'd be distracted."

Second step.

"And if you're distracted -"

Another step.

"- I can put this hat on you."

"That's a lot of effort for a silly old hat," breathed Delilah, who hadn't moved the whole time. He was close now, so close she could feel the warmth radiating off his person.

"It is," he admitted, "But I have an ulterior motive."

"And what, pray tell, is that?" she asked, and once again, he took a step, now directly in front of her, He raised his hand, lightly brushing her cheek before placing the hat on her head.

"I just really want to kiss you," he said, and leaned forward. She could hear Kasey in her head all over again, telling her not to kiss him, to play hard to get, to laugh, and spin away, and wink at him.

But, then again, Kasey had moved in with that Bulgarian boy after she'd graduated. So, instead of listening to her big sister's advice, she tilted her head up and met his lips with her own.

It was as all kisses should have been - soft and sweet, the taste of cotton candy lingering long after he had pulled away. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, and they continued down the street with their hands linked, that ridiculous hat still resting on her hair. The conversation flowed with ease - they spoke of trivial things, like the Ferris Wheel and his family and hers, and their upcoming graduation. Time flew, much to her dismay, and soon she found herself standing at the steps to the Weasley Wizard Wheezes, rummaging in her bag for a key.

"Are you sure your mom said to come here?" asked Albus, staring uncertainly through the window. He could see that the lights in the Pygmy Puff cage were on, but everything else was immersed in shadow.

"Yeah," said Delilah, unlocking the door, "Mum took Xavier and Willow out for dinner or something, but Dad's here. She asked me to keep him company, though Helga knows why."

"Alright," said Albus, a crooked grin on his face, "I'll head home then...See you in school?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling, "See you in school."

She stood on her toes, lightly kissing him on the cheek, before going inside.

Locking the door behind her, Delilah watched through the window as Albus walked down the road, whistling to himself. A smile spread across her face, and she waited until he'd disappeared around one corner, before turning to survey the shop. Now that her eyes had adjusted, she found it easier to walk past the shelves and tables without knocking anything over. She made her way through the place, looking around in confusion. Mum _had_ said that Dad would be there, right? Then where was -

_Sniff_.

She froze, and slowly turned towards the source of the distinct sound. It was almost as though someone was...crying.

Putting two and two together, she increased her pace, running through the store and peeking into all the storage rooms and offices, but not making a sound. Somehow, she felt saying it out loud was too dangerous, to terrible to think -

She didn't stopping until she was all the way at the back, panting as she came to a halt at the door to a small, abandoned work room. Faded blueprints were plastered over the walls and the ceiling, the floor stacked with boxes and the tables littered with old equipment and empty vials. Despite having never set foot in the place before, that was not the first thing that caught her eye.

"Daddy?" she whispered.

Leaning back in an old wooden chair was Lee Jordan, looking far older than his forty-five years. There were bags under his distinctively bloodshot eyes, his cheeks looked sunken in, and his clothes were rumpled, indicating he'd been there for a while now. An empty glass sat on the table, next to a half-full bottle of Odgen's. She took a few steps forward, reaching out and placing a hand on his cheek. He finally looked up at her.

"Lilah?" he croaked, before smiling wryly, "Allie sent you, didn't she?"

"Yeah," she said, looking worriedly at her father, "She said to keep you company."

He laughed, but the sound was bitter, harsh, and very unfamiliar, "I suppose I should've said that I wanted to be left alone, instead for _her_ to leave me alone."

She didn't like the way he was talking, or the way he looked. This was nothing like the friendly, jovial man she knew.

"Daddy," she said finally, looking at what seemed to be a faded photograph in his hand, "Who is that?"

The mention of the picture seemed to brighten Lee's face a bit, and he held it out to her, while asking, "What's the date, Lilah? And the year?"

"Second of May, 2023," she murmured distractedly, taking the photo and looking at it. It showed three boys laughing, their arms slung around each other. The one on the left was easily her father - though she'd never seen him in dreadlocks before. And she knew the pale, red-haired one on the right was George Weasley, Roxanne's father, so the one in the middle was...George?

"There are two of him," she said, pointing to the picture, and he smiled and shook his head.

"Not two," he said, "That's Fred, on the right."

"Fred?" she repeated, thinking of the boy she knew, a few years older than her, with dark skin and curly brown hair.

"Not your Fred," said Lee, reading her mind, "My Fred. Fred Weasley, George's twin."

"Mr. Weasley has a twin?" she asked, incredulous. How come she'd never seen him before? She'd been to the Burrow once, and had met Ron and George Weasley. She'd heard Charlie worked in Romania, Bill in Egypt, and Percy in the Ministry, but never anything about Fred -

2nd May, 2023.

Oh.

"He died during the War," she said softly, her hand running over his face, "Twenty-five years ago."

Lee nodded, and sighed, looking to the empty glass on the table, "Every year, I wonder if it could have been different. If I could've done something - _anything_. Every year, I play out the scenario in my head, over and over...It always gets worse. Sometimes, I think if I had arrived earlier, or if I'd been dueling Thicknesse along with Percy, if I'd been standing somewhere else - just one small difference would have changed that outcome..."

"But it's happened," she said softly, and he looked up, mild surprise on his face. She held out the photo to him, and he took it. "It's already happened. It's already done. So...so, instead of grieving, instead of putting yourself through so much pain, through all this guilt that you don't deserve...Don't you think you should honor his memory instead?"

Her father still watching him, she walked over to the desk, perching herself on its edge.

"If Fred Weasley Senior is anything like his twin, and anything like George Weasley's kids, and anything like you, he's the kind of person who would've want balloons and confetti at his funeral, right?"

He laughed at that, and feeling a surge of confidence, she continued on, "And _I_ think he would be very disappointed if he found you drowning the memory of his death-day in Firewhisky and tears. Heck - even Nearly-Headless Nick has a party to celebrate his death. So, we're going to change the way we grieve Fred Weasley, okay? Starting today, we're going to mourn him in _style_. And since he was your best friend, and I know nothing about him, how about you tell me how you met?"

Lee smiled at her, a full-blown, crinkly-eyed smile, and he reached forward, taking her hand in his own, "Do you know how proud I am of you?"

"More proud than you are of Kasey?" she teased, and he laughed, before crinkling his nose.

"Oh, Godric, I hope that girl knows what she's doing. Kasey Krum would be an _awful_ name."

"Daddy," she reminded, smiling as she adjusted her Mickey Mouse hat, "How did you meet the Weasley twins?"

"Oh, that was so long ago," he said, and his gaze grew unfocused as he continued, "I'd found myself a nice, empty compartment, way at the end of the train, so that I could let my spider out to stretch his legs a bit. All the other kids were scared senseless of him, but Fred and George - they threw the door open the moment they set eyes on him, and practically invited themselves into the compartment..."

* * *

**A/N; Delilah is the second daughter of Lee and Alicia, born between 2005 &amp; 2006\. Her elder sister is Kasey (b.2001 - 2002), and her younger siblings are Xavier (b.2006 - 2007) and Willow (b. 2007 - 2008).**

**If anyone's interested in knowing more about my headcanons, you can visit .com (My Harry Potter blog :3). Follows are love. (So are reviews.)**


	3. Throw A Dollar

**The Next Gen Contest entry - Louis gets a new job.**

**Huge TV Show Quotes Bucket entry - 48."If I see something I haven't seen before, I'll throw a dollar at it." - _Damon Salvatore, The Vampire Diaires_**

* * *

Keeping a secret is a very peculiar art, because, let's face it - secrets aren't really secrets until you tell someone. The question is, once you have a secret, whom do you tell?

First things first, you do _not_ tell Dominique, because anything you tell her, she will tell James, and vice versa. Roxanne and Fred know everything about each other, and Lucy always blabs to her big sister. Albus and Rose share every story, as do Lily and Hugo, and Victoire will always, _always_ tell Teddy.

So whom _do_ you tell? The answer's simple - you tell the person who has so many secrets, they're too busy keeping their own to talk about yours.

You tell Louis Weasley.

* * *

Shell Cottage was blanketed in the quiet of a beautiful winter night. The occupants of the house, six in all, busied themselves as they waited for the last member of their group to join them. Dominique was by the fire, sitting next to her father, recounting the story of what dragon had given her the shiny new burn on her arm. Fleur was talking excitedly to her eldest daughter, whose hands were resting on her stomach as she smiled and nodded along. Teddy had made himself comfortable in the living room, absentmindedly listening to Dom's story as his hair changed color in an attempt to amuse his daughter, who was nestled in his lap.

"- the Ridgeback wasn't all that much of a challenge though, not after we'd taken care of the female," explained Dom, grinning brightly at her dad, "So Uncle Charlie and I circled around the back, while Lys and the others had him distracted in the front, and -"

The sound of a sharp _crack_ echoed through the air, followed by a rap on the door. All of them looked up, and Dom stood, pulling her wand out.

"Must be Louis," she said, heading over to the foyer, and the general hum of business resumed; with Fleur and Victoire continuing their conversation, while Bill turned to pay attention to his granddaughter.

"I'm coming," Dom called, as the knocking sounded again, "Seriously, Lou, hold your horses - _Louis_!"

She stood there at the open door, staring in horror at her brother's limp form. Another man was at the threshold, supporting Louis' weight. He had a face so generic Dom was sure she wouldn't remember him after she'd shut the door. She moved forward, looping her arm around her brother. The man seemed to hesitate at first, but then relented, so that Dom was fully supporting him.

"What happened?" she demanded, and the man lowered his eyes.

"Accident at the office," his said, in a low tone.

"Accident?" she repeated, incredulous, "He works at the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office - what sort of _accidents_ knock a person out?!"

"He's still semi-conscious," the man pointed out, before adding, "It was a...a raid, on one house. He got hurt, and we suggested he go to St. Mungo's, but he insisted on coming home. Said something like, 'his dragon would protect him'."

The man's brow furrowed, as though he was sure this was proof of Louis' needing to get a psych consult, but Dom laughed, "Oh, he was talking about me. Well, I'll take care of him. Thank you."

She adjusted her arm under her brother, and made a move to shut the door. She saw the man turn and leave, and realized she didn't know who he was.

"Hey, what did you -"

A _crack _sounded once more, and he was gone. Dominique frowned, but said nothing, pulling Louis' arm firmly around her shoulder.

"Come on, Lou," she murmured, walking towards the living room, him stumbling along slowly.

"Dom, did I hear someone Apparate -" Bill began, when she re-entered, but he jumped to his feet and rushed over, the moment he saw her.

"Louis!" exclaimed Fleur, moving towards her son, as Bill and Dominique laid him down on the sofa.

"Hey, Louis," said Dom, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to him, her hand on his cheek, "You awake, kid?"

"Dommie?" he mumbled, and Fleur's eyes widened. She walked back to the kitchen, Victoire at her tail. The two returned with a bowl of warm water and some towels.

"I will prepare some soup," said the French woman, with the air of someone who was trying to keep calm, "Victoire, you go and make 'is bed. I do not know what 'appened, but 'e will need to rest."

"_Oui, maman,"_ she murmured, moving to the stairs. She cast one look at her brother, before ascending. Teddy had placed his daughter, now asleep, on the rocking chair and had moved forward.

"Yeah, Lou," said Dom softly, even though she only responded to that name when James used it, "It's Dommie. Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"_Non," _he whispered, "_C'est un secret. On m'a dit de ne pas dire._"

Bill and Teddy both frowned, turning to her. Louis usually spoke English.

"He said that it's a secret, and that they told him not to tell," she said to them, before turning to Louis.

"Who's 'they', Lou?"

The seventeen-year-old boy shook his head vigorously, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. His fists suddenly clenched, and to their horror, he started to thrash about from where he lay, almost hitting Dom in the face

"_Non! Non! __On m'a dit de ne pas dire! Je ne peux pas vous dire!__"_

"Alright, you don't need to tell me," said Dom, her eyes widening as he began to panic. She placed both hands on either side on his face, and leaned forward, pressing her lips to his forehead, while Teddy held his wrists. Louis slowly began to calm, and his arms fell by his side. He looked at his sister, smiling at her through half lidded eyes as she pulled away.

_"L'amour, l'espace, la pensée, le temps et la mort, chère sœur_," he mumbled, before he drifted into sleep. Dominique's eyes widened, and she stared at him, unblinking. Her mother had returned with a bowl of soup, and Bill and Teddy were looking at her expectantly.

"What did he say?" her father asked, "Something about love and death?"

"It's not important," she said, shaking her head, "Mum, he's fallen asleep. I think instead of soup, we'll just take him to his room."

"I'll do it," said Teddy, slipping his arms under the younger boy, and lifting him up, "Dom, could you bring Andy up as well?"

She nodded, moving towards the young, blonde child, still curled up in the rocking chair. She cast a look at Teddy as he carried Louis upstairs, and steeled her gaze, vowing to talk to him later.

* * *

"You're a dirty little liar, you know?"

Louis looked up from the bowl of soup he was drinking, and smiled when he spotted his sister at the door, her silhouette standing tall against the darkened hallway.

"It's two in the morning, Nika," he said, sipping the cold soup, "Can't your false accusations wait till morning?"

She didn't seem to think they could wait, for she crossed his room in a few long strides and settled herself on his bed. Her eyes met his, and when she spoke next, his blood ran cold.

_"L'amour, l'espace, la pensée, le temps et la mort, chère sœur_," she said, and smirked, "Love, space, thought, time, and death. Why does that sound familiar, Lou?"

He looked away, placing the bowl on the side table.

"I couldn't tell you," he said, "It was supposed to be a secret. Security's gone up for us, since the recent incidents. You don't know half the things we work on -"

"Oh, please, Lou," Dom scoffed, "I tame dragons for a living. If I see something I haven't seen before, I'll throw a dollar at it."

Louis laughed, before adding, "I don't think the Department of Mysteries will appreciate your chucking Muggle money around the place."

"Why?" she asked, grinning, "My brother works there, doesn't he? So, are you the youngest Unspeakable yet? There can't be any other seventeen-year-old's, right?"

He gave an exasperated sigh, but the corners of his mouth twitched up in amusement, "We're called Unspeakables for a reason, Dom."

"Yeah, but I'm your sister," she pointed out, "You're _favorite_ sister."

"What makes you think Vic isn't my favorite?" he asked, though he realized he shouldn't have. Her grin turned smug.

"Who got expelled for you?" she reminded, nudging his shoulder, and he groaned.

"Oh, it'a been five years, quit bringing that up. Besides," he added, "You got to spend that year in Romania, and don't tell me you didn't enjoy it."

"Course I enjoyed it," she said glibly, "But I'm still the favorite sister, right?"

He rolled his eyes, but smiled, "If that makes you happy; sure, you're my favorite."

"So tell me," she demanded, jumping on his bed, and he laughed.

"I told you, it's a secret -"

"Pfft, you have no secrets from me."

"I'll have you know I have plenty of secrets from you."

"Yeah, and we need to change that, so tell me -"

"Unspeakables, Dom. We're called _Unspeakables_."

"Alright, then use sign language or something."

Louis groaned while his sister laughed, apparently amused from tormenting him. This was going to be a _long_ night.

* * *

**If you're interested in knowing more about Dom's getting expelled, or any other headcanons, you can check out my Tumblr - siriuslypotterlocked . tumblr . com**

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	4. Christmas Graveyards

**_Next Gen Contest - your character sneaks out at night._**

**The Character I got is Longbottom daughter - I have August Longbottom - 14, who has two siblings - Franklin, 17, and Allison, 6.**

_**Huge TV Show Quotes Bucket**_

**77\. "Are you really that dumb or just naturally blonde?" - _Katherine Pierce, The Vampire Diaries_**

_**Advanced Potion-Making Challenge.**_

**Who is the mysterious Abbott buried in the graveyard at Godric's Hollow? / parchment, asymmetrical, attempt / Boggart**

* * *

_The Wizengamot is said to have been active since __1544\. When the Ministry of Magic was established in __1707, the Wizengamot was incorporated into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Comparing this to the Muggle Judiciary of the United Kingdom, we can say that -_

August Longbottom paused, her quill hovering over the parchment. Her lips pursed, and she stared at her homework intently. What _could_ you say about the Muggle judicial system?

After a long moment of fruitless mental struggle, she groaned, placing her quill on the desk. Oh, _why_ had she taken Muggle Studies? She could've just gone with Arithmancy - Louis made it look _easy_ -

The thought of Louis Weasley made her freeze. She sighed, and looked away. Of course, she wasn't going to get any more work done _now. _She'd be too distracted. Besides, who did school work on Christmas Eve? Or, judging by the darkness that had settled outside her window - was it Christmas already? Either way, Franklin was in his seventh year, and she was certain _he_ didn't have work for the holidays. And it wasn't like six-year-old Allison was doing anything apart from sleeping. Was it silly, that she envied _both_ of her siblings?

She got up from the rickety old desk, and made her way to the cupboard and getting out a sweater and a long, holey scarf. After securing it firmly around her neck, and pulling a woolen cap over her head, she made her way out of her bedroom and down the stairs. She knew which ones creaked and which ones didn't, but it still took a while to get herself to the landing without making a sound. This was her great-granmother's house, and she woke at the slightest noise. Of course, August would have rather spent Christmas at home, in Hogsmeade, but Dad had _insisted_ on coming here. Still, Godric's Hollow had it's perks. She wouldn't be sneaking out if it didn't.

She reached the door, silently unlocking it and pulling it open. A soft shriek escaped her lips as she saw her great-grandmother standing before her, in what seemed to be an old closet, hideous hat and all.

"Gran, I didn't - I mean, I -"

She fell into a horrified silence when her great-grandmother looked up. Dark, hollow sockets glared out from where her eyes should have been; sallow, waxy skin over her bony face; Augusta Longbottom's blackened teeth stretched into a hideous smile. She raised a deformed hand, reaching for her great-granddaughter, clawing through the air -

Wait, that _couldn't_ be her gran. Fumbling at her jeans pocket, she pulled out her wand and pointed it at the horrible thing.

"_Riddikulus!"_

All at once, her great-grandmother morphed into a rag doll, and fell to the floor, before it crawled back into the closet and the door shut behind it.

August glared at the offending door for a good five minutes, before making her way to the _actual_ exit. She let herself out, walking through the snowy streets and muttering all the while.

"Stupid house," she said, rubbing her arms, "Stupid Boggarts and stupid Godric's Hollow - what I'd give to be back _home_..."

She continued on for a good while, no one really paying attention to her - she was so bundled up she could pass for a grown woman, albeit a short one. She didn't slow her pace until she reached her destination - the graveyard.

August made her way through the dreary place, walking past graves and glancing fleetingly at the war memorial. She finally stopped at one tombstone - an old one that simply read, "_Yolanda Abbott, 1962 - 1996. Beloved mother and daughter."_

She sat down on the hard ground, wiggling a bit until she'd made herself comfortable.

"Hey, Yolanda," she said, her breath fogging in the air, "How're you doing? It's Christmas Eve - or Christmas, maybe - I'm not sure. Either way, I thought you might want some company."

She pulled the cap down more firmly over her ears, and continued, "I got ambushed my a Boggart at home. It's so stupid, isn't it? My great-grandma won't get rid of it - I remember her talking to Dad about it. I can't believe Dad named me after her - she's so nutty. But at least she's a grandmother, right? Dad's parents aren't really...parents, and I don't know about Mum's parents, which leaves - you."

She smiled fondly at the stone, "You'd make a nice grandmother. You listen. I haven't talked to anyone else about Louis - or being a Ravenclaw, even. Were you a Ravenclaw, maybe? I'm not even smart - I barely pass classes, I don't study all that much. The only thing I work at is Herbology, and that's so Dad isn't disappointed. Louis's smart though. He's brilliant, really. He was always helping me...I'll have to find someone new for help now -"

"If you keep sitting here, talking to a tombstone, someone's going to cart you to an asylum."

August shrieked loudly, jumping to her feet and turning around, her hand plunging into her pocket. She pulled out her wand and pointed it at the person far before she recognized him, her heart hammering in her chest.

"Are you really that dumb, or just naturally blonde?" hissed Franklin, holding her wrist and pushing her arm down, "Put that away, you idiot - the Muggles will see you."

The blood was still pounding in her ears, but she slid her wand into her pocket anyway. Her brother regarded her with his brown eyes, and looking at him, she was once again reminded of how different they looked. August had always been the perfect mix of her parents - her Mum's blonde hair, her Dad's round face, a blend of their eyes. Little Allison looked like her too.

Frank was a different story. No one was sure where he had gotten all those angles from, while the rest of the family was all curves - his high cheekbones, straight jawline and heavy brow always set him apart. People had a hard time believing they were related. The differences became more obvious once Frank opened his mouth.

Sometimes, just sometimes, August wished she had been the older one, all angular and gorgeous, with boys chasing after her. She hated her blonde hair and her stupid brown eyes - she always looked so _plain._

"Hey, sissy, the staring's freaking me out," said Frank, snapping her out of her reverie. She shrugged, abashed, and looked away.

"Why are you here?" she asked, "Did you wake up when I -"

"I was already awake when that Boggart ambushed you," he said, grinning, "Nice spell work. Professor McGonagall would be proud. The Defense Against the Dark Arts one, that is."

"Thanks," she mumbled, flushing pink. Her brother didn't compliment her much. In fact, they never really talked at all. It was only a three years difference, but she'd always felt that he was eons ahead of her.

"So, what are you doing here?" she said, and he gestured to the headstone, a fond smile on his face.

"Just visiting Gran," he said, lowering himself to the ground. He pulled out his own wand, and waved it through the air. A small Christmas wreath appeared on the tombstone - honestly, it was a bit asymmetrical, with one side drooping too much, but she was sure her own attempt at the spell would have turned out much worse.

"Gran?" she asked, sitting down next to him, and crossing her legs. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"The name Abbott ring a bell, sis?" he asked sarcastically, and she frowned.

"No, I _know_ she's an Abbot," she said defensively, "I just don't know _how_ she's related to us. I asked Mum and -"

"If it's an Abbott, you don't ask Mum," sighed Frank, rolling his eyes, and she resisted the urge to hit him. He was always _so_ condescending.

"Mum would know more," she argued.

"Mum would also be more reluctant to tell," he shot back, and August paused. Honestly, she hadn't even considered that.

"So?" she asked finally, "Who is she?"

"Mum's mum," he replied easily, and August's eyes went wide, "She was killed by Death Eaters, sometime during the war. Dad told me. Mum was still in school when it happened. About my age."

"That's...that's horrible," whispered August, and Frank shrugged.

"I think it's better than what Dad went through, honestly. And that leaves us with one batty great-grandmother."

"Do you think about it a lot? asked August, looking at him, "The war, I mean." It was so strange, talking to her brother like this. They'd never done this before.

"Sometimes," he admitted, "I wonder if I could've done it - slayed the snake, like Dad did. Battled Death Eaters, protected everyone without making a muck of things."

"You would've," said August, and he looked at her in surprise, "You're brave. You're a Gryffindor. And your fantastic at dueling."

"Are all these compliments supposed to be my Christmas gift?" he teased, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, "And you're no slacker yourself, sis. You're bloody smart, you know -"

"I'm not," she said, looking away, "I'm rubbish at all this Ravenclaw stuff. I wish the Hat didn't put me with the eagles."

"The Hat put you there nonetheless, yeah?" he said, and squeezed her arm reassuringly, "I think it knows what it's doing. And besides -"

He stopped when the sound of bells echoed through the air, loud and sweet. The siblings looked into the air, as if expecting to see the tangible sounds floating over their heads.

Franklin turned to the tombstone, and smiled.

"Merry Christmas, Gran."

"Yeah, Merry Christmas," said August, and turned to her brother, leaning against him, "And to you, Frank."

"Likewise, sis," he said, pressing a kiss into her hair.

* * *

**Okay, since this is a fic focusing on August, I didn't want to bring too much of the Louis-drama into it. For those who want an idea of what it's about, go to siriuslypotterlocked . tumblr . com . You'll find it in Dominique's Character Profile. On the same blog is a story that takes place at the exact same time, of Vivian Wood and James P.**

**Also, if anyone's confused about the reference to McGonagall, it doesn't refer to Minerva, as she's retired. In my head canon, two of Minerva McGonagall's nieces end up teaching at Hogwarts (DADA and Transfiguration).**

**And a reminder that even though August performs underage magic, it can't be traced in a house full of wizards and witches who are of age.**

**Okay, that's about it. Review!**


	5. For Her

**Molly Weasley II gets married.**

* * *

Molly Weasley is three when she goes for her first wedding. She doesn't remember it very well, but there's an old photograph on the walls of the Burrow. Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron are in the middle, wide, _wide_ smiles on their faces. They're surrounded by the rest of the Weasleys - Uncle Bill is holding four-year-old Victoire, who looks absolutely adorable in her white frock, her white-blonde curls falling till her shoulders. Molly's standing next to her parents, in a simple green dress, watching the bride and bridegroom. She doesn't remember much, but that is when she thinks that marriage is for heroes.

Molly is twenty when she stands by Victoire, in a blue bridesmaid's dress. The wedding takes place in the Burrow, and it's probably the biggest thing that's happened in a while, so everyone's in a frenzy. It's almost the same as Uncle Bill's and Aunt Fleur's wedding was - the fairy lights, the flowers, the music. Friends of family and friends of friends are invited, and as Victoire kisses Teddy, sealing their union, Molly thinks that marriage is for the beautiful.

She's twenty-five, and she's once more in a bridesmaid's dress, watching eighteen-year-old Lily and her newly-wed husband, Scorpius, socialize with all the people in the Malfoy Manor. Anyone who wonders why they insisted on getting married so young need only glance at the redhead's sightly bulging stomach, which Scorpius touches gently. Despite the glares from her family, Molly sees how the people whisper, how they judge. And yet, Lily's smile is the brightest one in the room. That's when she thinks that marriage is for the bold.

It isn't until two years later that she starts to get tired of the dresses that are picked out for her, but she likes Roxanne too much to argue. Her cousin's always been ridiculously popular, and her partner, Angus Roth, is the Editor-in-Chief of Witch Weekly, so it's no wonder that the wedding's so grand. There are vaulted ceilings, stained-glass windows, and enough flowers to fill Hyde park. Friends and family flock around the newly-weds, and as she watches them through the throng, she thinks that marriage is for the loved.

At twenty-nine, she finally gets to pick out her own outfit. This time she's standing barefoot on the beach side of Shell Cottage. Dominique is talking to her Man-of-Honour, James, and Lysander is laughing about something with his brother, but everyone sees how the couple's eyes meet across the small crowd, ever so often. Dom's in a gorgeous backless gown, exposing the contorted scars that stretch from her shoulder blade to her hip, and more small ones on her arm. Lysander has a long one down his cheek, and his right hand shows what used to be a grievous burn, but the rest of the friends they've invited from Romania have a similar look to them, and whenever they glance at each other, you can tell that Lys has never found anyone to be more beautiful. And Molly stands there and wonders whether marriage is for the dauntless.

James and Dom have always been two peas in a pod, so it comes as no surprise when he marries his girlfriend, Vivian Wood, a year after she marries Lys. It's a big enough affair - all the players of the Montrose Magpies, the Holyhead Harpies and Puddlemere United are invited, not to mention James' friends from the Auror department, and the Weasleys' recently acquired in-laws. The wedding is held in the Wood house, since there's no way the Burrow could hold so many people without attracting all the paparazzi of wizarding England. Molly is sitting at a table with her family, as everyone applauds when the Best-Maid, Dominique, stands up to give her speech. She talks about how James used to be absolutely terrified of Vivian - his Quidditch Captain back at Hogwarts - and how that fear became admiration, which became respect, which turned to friendship and then something more. Molly listens, as silent as the rest of them, and she believes that marriage is for the faithful.

She just turns thirty-two, when Louis - who has always been her favorite brother - announces at the family get-together that he was proposed to by his boyfriend, Franklin Longbottom, and said yes. Molly, along with most of the cousins, knows what hardship Louis had to go through to deal with his sexuality, so she's one of the many people who is absolutely ecstatic at the news. The ceremony is quiet - only immediate family is invited. No photographs are taken, but Molly knows that everyone will remember the moment that Louis slid his arms around Frank's neck, their lips pressing together. All their years of hardship and worry fade into nothingness, and Molly knows that marriage is for the brave.

She's standing in the gardens of Lee Jordan's house at thirty-four, watching the fireworks explode across the sky. Albus and his new wife, Delilah, are standing at the head of the crowd, watching the show with everyone else. Molly has never known a couple quite so sweet as Al and Del, which is probably why, despite both their siblings already having tied the knot, they waited so long. The wait seems to have been worth it though, judging by the way their hands keep brushing past each other. Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny look like they're crying, as do Delilah's parents. Molly watches them, and she ponders whether marriage is for the kind.

Fred, Rose and Hugo decide that they will not conform to society, so the last wedding that takes place is between Lucy and Allison Longbottom. Molly's thirty-seven, and finally a Maid-of-Honor. Allie's the second Longbottom to marry into the family, not to mention the second queer one. Molly stands by her little sister, who is eleven year years her junior, as she recites her vows to her bride. The Weasley weddings have traced a full circle, and they're back at the Burrow. Dad and Mum are smiling like there's no tomorrow, and Molly feels a tear tugging at the corner of her eye, but it's for all the wrong reasons. She watches her little sister seal their union, and she finally thinks that marriage is for everyone but her.

* * *

"Hi."

Molly looks up suddenly, the masculine voice cutting across the silence of the library. He's standing in front of her, and he looks around her age, and for some reason he's _smiling._

"You're the librarian," she says, and realizes how stupid she sounds, because of _course_ he's the librarian - she nods 'hello' to him almost everyday.

He just laughs, and says, "Yes. I am."

They look at each other for a few awkward seconds, before he continues, "You've been coming here every day for a long while now, and I feel guilty for not knowing your name. I'm Quentin."

He holds out his hand, and she takes it, marveling at the firm, yet casual grasp.

"I'm Molly," she says, "Molly Weasley."

* * *

It's not so much a ceremony as it is the signing of some papers with a witness - Lucy - present. They kiss because they're supposed to, they say vows because they want to, and there's no point of tossing the bouquet, because Lucy's already married, and there's no one else in the room.

And yet, Molly knows that, at that very moment, marriage is for her and her alone.

* * *

**R&amp;R! A lot of OCs are mentioned here, with their basic info. If you want to know more about them, you can follow me of siriuslypotterlocked . tumblr . com!**


	6. Battle Scars

**The Next Gen Competition - Dominique gets injured.**

* * *

When Dominique Weasley saw the red sparks fly through the air, she immediately began to move deeper into the forest, her knee-high, dragon hide boots padding softly on the earth. She tugged her fireproof cloak more firmly around her frame, hoping Uncle Charlie and the others weren't in that much trouble. She was far too worried about them enjoy the Peruvian forest around her - though occasional spikes of ecstasy surfaced through the anxiety. She was on a dragon hunt! A real dragon hunt! Right now, she didn't feel so gloomy about having been expelled from school. Of course, she wasn't allowed anywhere near the actual hunt - the Peruvian Vipertooth was far too dangerous. But she was content with watching them truss up the dragon after they'd taken it down.

She moved further through the trees, glancing across her shoulder once in a while, but never stopping. Red sparks meant she had to retreat to safety, that things were out of control. All the hunters were wearing the same fireproof cloak that she was, emblazoned with the crest of the Romanian Dragon Reserve, along with protective dragon-hide gear. She wore a little less than they did - while they had on vests, and arm and leg guards, she'd only opted for the gloves and boots, donning a white tank top and shorts. Her dyed turquoise hair was in a French braid, and despite not being all that vain, she had to admit that she looked pretty bad-ass.

"I wish you were here, Jamesy," she said, to no one in particular. Sometimes, when she talked out loud to him, she liked to think that he could hear her, and that he wasn't mad at her.

"You'd love this place," she continued, carefully stepping over plants and around trees, into a wide clearing, "The dragon-hunters are so cool, and the reserve is pretty neat. We've had people from other reserves come along, and I've been learning about the dragons, and -"

She stopped abruptly as a high pitched _hiss_ echoed through the air. Slowly she turned, hoping, _praying_, that wasn't what she thought it was -

A dragon. Not ten meters from her, a real live dragon. It was curled up, as though it had been sleeping, but now it's head rose about its scaly copper wings, and it _looked_ at her.

Okay, she could do this. Think, Dom, _think._ What did Uncle Charlie usually say?

Size up the dragon. She pushed her fear aside, and studied the beast. It was a Peruvian Vipertooth, naturally, but not like the one the other hunters were fighting. It was...smaller. Ten feet long, maybe. And since dragons grew to their full size by the end of two years, that meant this one was...one-and-a-half years old? So, it was practically a baby.

You usually couldn't tell the genders apart, but the females' horns grew out after the first year, while the males' only had them after the second - and she couldn't see any on this dragon. A boy, then. A baby boy.

What did Uncle Charlie say next? Oh, yes -_ run._

She turned quickly, and began to sprint through the forest, but she heard a loud, harsh screech, and knew the dragon was after her. She zigzagged between the trees, for surely even the fastest dragon wouldn't be able to go so fast without crashing -

She screamed, and fell to her side as a white-hot column of flame erupted beside her, burning her right arm. Whimpering, she clutched her elbow and got back onto her feet, continuing to run. She reached into her pocket, and sent sparks into the sky, before turning around slightly while she still moved forward.

"_Aguamenti!"_ she shrieked, sending a jet of water over her shoulder. She must have hit him, for the dragon roared angrily. But if anything, that made him bolder. Another column of flame burst from his mouth, but she sent a jet of water at it again and ran.

"_Occaeco!"_ She sent a Conjunctivitis Curse at the dragon, and she knew she had hit her mark. A loud _thud_ echoed through the air, from the dragon hurtling into a tree, but she couldn't stop to rest. Her lungs and limbs were burning, and her arm was throbbing painfully, and through the fogginess that was encroaching upon her mind, she tried to think of _anything_ that could slow this dragon down.

What did dragons have? Their eyesight, flight and fire. She'd rid him of his eyes, and she couldn't do very much about the fire, but something about his wings...The only thing she was absolutely good at was Transfiguration, and she didn't know how that would help -

Transfiguration. Of _course._

The dragon was right on her tail once more, she could sense the oncoming of flames, but she needed him close by to do this. She could feel the heat on her neck, the temperature slowly rising around her, any minute now...

"_Evanesco!_" she yelled, throwing the spell right at its wings. She stared in mingled surprise and horror when the whole wing just _disappeared._ The dragon crashed to the ground, letting out a piteous cry, and she allowed herself one laugh, because it was over, she had taken down a dragon -

Pain exploded across her back, like fire and daggers and broken glass, and she screamed, crashing to the ground. Her senses were in turmoil, her vision slowly fading. She heard a dragon's roar behind her, and another sound - something reassuring, something human...

* * *

**I thought of first writing Fleur and Bills' reaction to their baby getting hurt, but I decided I like it like this :3**


	7. Same Old, Same Old

**The Next Gen Competition.**

**Fred Weasley has a normal day.**

* * *

"- Out of all the ridiculous, _imbecilic _things you three have done, this is by _far_, the most dangerous! What were you _thinking_? You could've been killed!"

"It isn't our fault Skeeter can't tell the difference between Lacewing flies and Billywig stings," grumbled Dominique. Fred snickered, and James bit his lip, but Professor Isobelle McGonagall looked murderous.

"Miss Weasley," she said quietly, "That will be twenty more points from Slytherin."

"But, Professor –" she burst, and Fred clamped his hand over her mouth.

"She's already taken fifty from each of us," he hissed into her ear, "You want her to deduct more?"

"We're very sorry, Professor McGonagall," said James somberly, looking at the blonde woman from under his floppy bangs. Fred knew that worked on most girls, but their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher wasn't just any girl.

"I would have believed you the first time, Potter," she said flatly, "Or the second. Or even the seventh. But now I've lost count of how many times you've switched a classmate's Potion's ingredients, and how many times you've caused an explosion in your classroom. So, you will not be forgiven. Detention, for all three of you."

She cast a look at the teenagers, before adding, "_Separate_ detention."

That seemed to put them off, but then Fred piped up, "Erm, Professor, you might have to coordinate with Professor Moore. He's having us clean up the Potions classroom, and organize the ingredients' cupboards."

"And Professor Moore is making me stay back for the next two days, to inventory everything," Dominique added.

"And Professor Longbottom is giving me and Fred detention every alternate day of this week," said James, "While I squeeze out Bubotuber pus, he replants Mandrakes."

"And Madame Pince is making all of us reorganize the Stacks in the library," mused Fred, "Because of that stunt we pulled. That's every day, from six to eight in the evening."

"Maybe we should write this down for you?" suggested Dominique innocently.

McGonagall's lips pursed, and she glared at the three, but they were so used to it by now that they didn't flinch. Not visibly, anyway.

"Alright, then," she said, after a minute, "No detention."

The three exchanged looks of surprise, and continued to stare at her, wondering if there was a catch.

There was.

"Homework," she said, and they gaped at her in horror.

"But, Professor –"

"You _can't_ –"

"Professor Flitwick already gave us _three_ essays this week –"

"And we have all those Transfiguration spells to practice –"

"You should've thought of that before," interrupted Professor McGonagall, and fixed them with a stern look, "I want twenty-five inches on your respective wand woods, their specific properties, and how they aid you in your best subjects. _This_ way, you cannot copy off each other, and your siblings cannot help you."

For once, all three seventeen-year-olds looked defeated.

"That will be all," she said, dismissing them, "You may go."

Fred, James and Dominique walked out of the classroom without another word, waiting till they were in the hallway to speak.

"She's a smart one," mused Fred, "None of the others have thought of homework yet."

"We're still in sixth year," James reminded, "The other teachers will probably get the idea soon enough."

"But, you have to admit," said Dom, smiling wistfully, "Compared to last week, this was pretty good."

"Compared to last week," said Fred, grinning at his cousins, "This was perfectly, utterly normal."


	8. Professional

**The Next Gen Competition**

**Roxanne becomes a parent.**

* * *

Professional. That's what Roxanne liked the most about their relationship. At home, on the street, in cafes - Angus was the best husband ever. But the moment they stepped into the office, she wasn't his wife anymore. She was the employee, and he was her boss, and that was it. When they walked down the pavement, hand in hand, talking and laughing freely, she felt nothing but love for him. It was only right when they walked into the Witch Weekly office, that their love was replaced by respect. That's how they worked best, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

It was a whole half-an-hour before Roxanne emerged from the bathroom, her bed-robe still knotted around her curvy frame. She walked towards the dining table and took a seat, pressing her forehead to the wooden surface with a groan.

"Roxy?" questioned Angus, putting his coffee down to look at her, "Why aren't you dressed?"

"I feel awful," she mumbled, wrapping her arms around her stomach, "I think I have a bug."

He placed a hand over her head, playing with her hair.

"If you're not feeling well, don't come in today," he suggested, "Take rest. I'll come home and check in on you during lunch."

She lifted her head, looking at him through large brown eyes.

"But you have that meeting today," she whined, "And I really wanted to meet France's Witch Weekly Editor...Germany's going to be there, and Italy, and -"

"And I'll tell you about it when I get back," he finished, standing up and wrapping an arm around her, kissing the top of her head, "I'll even get an autograph, if you want."

"And a picture?" she asked, smiling, and he laughed.

"Yes," he agreed, "As many pictures as you like. Now, there's tablets in the cabinet - take the Muggle ones first, and see if your bug goes away. There's coffee and toast in the kitchen, and if you want me to get something, call Leila. Don't call me though - the meeting will run long."

"Okay," she agreed, and she kissed him, before he shrugged on his coat and left. She sat at the table for a few more minutes, pursing her lips as she considered her immediate course of action, before heading straight to the bathroom. Upon inspection of the cabinet, she found the medicines, and after a long pause, reached out and picked a bottle off the shelf.

A pink plastic packet fell to the floor, and as she bent down to pick it up, she noticed the label on it. Her brain froze, doing frantic calculations. It took her a whole five minutes to figure it out, and when she did, she screamed.

* * *

"This is very impressive, Angus," said Liesel Schwarz, Editor-in-Chief of the German Witch Weekly, "You've outdone yourself again."

The various Europeans around the table nodded their agreement, and Angus smiled indulgently.

"It was nothing, old friend. In fact, if it wasn't for you -"

A sharp _crack_ echoed suddenly through the Conference Room, and most of the occupants jumped from their seats; Mrs. Schwarz included. It took them a moment to realize what had happened. Standing in front of the projector screen was what appeared to be the most disheveled woman. Her corkscrew curls were all over the place, her feet were bare and she was dressed in nothing more than a flimsy bed-robe. And yet, for some strange reason, her eyes shone brightly.

"What the -" began Liesel.

"Roxy," said Angus, cutting through the surprise, "What are you doing here?"

One look from her was all he needed, and he turned to his fellow editors, smiling apologetically.

"If you would all please excuse me," he said, bowing his head slightly, "I'll just have a quiet word with my wife."

Soft whispers sprung up among the men and women as he led her outside, and they only watched through the glass wall as she spoke to him, her expression conveying the nature of her message. Uncharacteristically, Angus Roth let out a loud whoop, and wrapped his arms around his wife, lifting her into the air. Neither seemed to care that the entire office was watching them.

Liesel rolled her eyes. "How unprofessional."


	9. Brave

**The Next Gen Competition**

**Frank Longbottom graduates.**

* * *

The Hogwarts castle was alive with music and dance, so no one noticed the two boys sneak out into the warm summer night. They were dressed in graduation robes and pointy hats, and wore Muggle suits underneath. They talked and laughed as they made their way over to the Black Lake, keeping their voices down. They headed over to the weeping willow by the shore. With the practiced ease of one who has been doing this for many years, they scaled the tree - all the way till the branch that stretched over the water, its leaves skimming the surface.

"This is it, Frankie," said Garrett Wood wistfully, swinging his legs.

"Yeah," sighed Franklin Longbottom, studying their reflection in the water surface. Like Garrett, Frank's robes and hat were a deep red, lined with gold. The graduation party was going on in the Great Hall, but they'd snuck out after the first few songs. They needed to have their own goodbye.

"Where's Roxy?" asked Garrett, glancing in the direction of the castle. Roxanne, the third member of their little group, was the only one missing.

"She was talking to that Ravenclaw girl," said Frank, "Zoe, I think."

"Oh," said Garrett, and frowned, "I hope she hurries up."

"She will," he assured, all the while hoping she _didn't _hurry up. If he were about to do what he'd been planing for so long now, he didn't want Roxy there to watch.

"It's out last night, eh?" Garrett mused, leaning back and looking up at the sky, "Final goodbyes, last words...We're going to remember tonight."

"We will," agreed Frank, mentally screaming at himself to get a move on, "Speaking of which, Gary, there's something I've - I want to - I mean -"

Garrett raised an eyebrow, "Casanova Franklin Longbottom, _stuttering_? This must be pretty big. What's up?"

Frank took a breath, looking into his best friend's brown eyes, even though Gary had stopped being his best friend over a year ago.

"I -"

_I have feelings for you._

"I - Um.."

_I've had a crush on you since sixth year_

"Erm, I mean, I -"

_I think I'm in love with you._

"I - Gary, I -"

He was cut off as Garrett suddenly wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Frank's arms slowly slid around him, and he realized the strange fluttery feeling he had in his chest was what Garrett had always felt back when he'd had a crush on Roxy.

"I know," he said softly, pressing against Frank, "I'll miss you too."

"Yeah," whispered Frank, hating himself, "I'll miss you."

"Are you two cuddling without me?" called a familiar voice, and Garrett pulled away too soon for Frank's liking. Grudgingly, he turned to the shore, but his irritation evaporated at the sight of Roxanne's face. Her robes were blue and bronze, and she was wearing a pretty dress under them. Her wedge-heels were clutched in her hand, and she was barefoot.

"You want help climbing up, Rox?" called Garrett teasingly, and she rolled her eyes, already scaling the bark.

"You just want to look up my skirt, don't you, Gary?"

"You know me so well," sighed Garrett, and Frank felt something twist in his stomach.

"Hurry up, Roxy," he called, half-hearted. "We're getting old here."

He looked down at his lap as Garrett and Roxanne continued their banter, the colors of his robes jumping out at him, mocking him. Gold and red. If only he were that brave.


End file.
